Transitions
by Sabacc Gal
Summary: They both knew the game plan was about to get even more complicated. Han and Leia in the months after Endor.
1. Propriety

**Transitions (1/5) by Sabacc Gal**

**Part 1: Propriety**

The volcanic island on Sladimar was barren, surrounded by lava, hot as hell, and was yet another ridiculous place to hold a summit. Not that anyone had asked his opinion.

By the time he and Chewie had delivered their cargo to the supplies hangar and he'd navigated his way out of the sweltering tunnels to the more civilized conference centre, Han was drenched with sweat. His stained shirt clung to him icily now as he strode through the climate-controlled corridors trying to look purposeful.

He finally spotted her among one of a dozen knots of guests – delegates, politicians, journalists – who were milling about the refreshment droids.

She was already looking directly at him through the mass of people. It was uncanny how she could do that. How many times, over the years, had he entered a bustling hangar, a crowded control room, a busy command center, to find her gaze fixed on him as he crossed the threshold? Other than to privately congratulate himself on her obvious attention, he'd never actually given it any thought until recently.

He waited in the shadows of the periphery. Within a few moments she was excusing herself from her group to join him in an unoccupied patch of hallway.

"You made good time," she said quietly. There was relief in her eyes.

"Yeah." He kept a respectful distance, aware of the watchful crowds. It wouldn't fool anybody but, as she'd reminded him, it was the appearance of propriety that counted, not propriety itself. So for now he played the game, though he longed to press her against the wall, propriety be damned.

The muted smile tugging at her lips told him she was onto him. He hoped she appreciated his restraint.

"Are you off-duty, then?"

He shook his head. "One of the perimeter pilots ran into problems. They've asked me to cover until twenty-three hundred."

She sighed. "Well, we're running late here, too. This dinner will likely go overtime, and I have an unexpected meeting scheduled afterwards." A soft chime sounded through the hall, and the crowds began migrating in small flocks towards a massive set of ostentatiously-carved doors. "Just come over when you're done. FJ-397."

"What do I do, toss lava pebbles at your window?" It came out grumpier than he'd intended and she frowned at him quizzically. "The delegates' wing goes into night-lock at twenty-one hundred," he reminded her in a more subdued tone. "I don't have security clearance beyond C-level."

Her expression softened. She reached into her slender diplomat's pouch and pulled out a datacard, activating a sequence before palming it to him.

He discreetly pressed his thumb against the square, waited for confirmation. "Won't that appear improper?" he challenged as he slipped the card back to her. His after-hours entry would be logged by security and tagged with her authorization.

"Yes, I'm sure it will." But her voice was warm and there was mischief in her eyes. The background chime increased in volume as the population thinned around them.

He held her gaze as long as he dared, then nodded respectfully before turning away.

Six weeks since Endor, two weeks since he'd seen her last and, unless her long-promised relief showed up, at least another week before he'd see her again. They'd had to orchestrate pretty damned hard to make even this scant meeting happen, and they both knew the game plan was about to get even more complicated.

But he wanted this to work. Wanted _them_ to work. Not since his academy entrance exams had he been so determined.

* * *

He palmed the entry pad, thoroughly exhausted, fueled only by anticipation mixed with the satisfaction of having gotten off-duty an hour earlier than expected.

The door to FJ-397 chimed his arrival and slid open to reveal Leia, still clad in senatorial wear, sitting in the suite's lounge across from an equally well-dressed woman whose back was to him.

Damn it. Why hadn't he thought to buzz first?

His brain kicked into damage control, if that was even possible after barging in like this. He squared his shoulders and adopted a detached yet officious tone. "Urgent Priority-One message for you, Your Highness." He reached into the pocket of his vest, pulling out a scuffed and clearly unofficial-looking datapad. "I can wait outside if you need a moment."

Leia's guest had turned around. He blinked, his apprehension fading as recognition hit him.

"That's quite all right," Winter said solemnly as she stood up, betraying not the slightest hint of having recognized him though he knew that was impossible. "It's very late and I was just leaving. It was wonderful catching up with you, Leia."

Leia rose in turn, and he noticed she was barefoot, her shoes abandoned by the couch. "Winter, this is General Solo." The laughter in her eyes, combined with her lack of footwear, confirmed that his feeble cover-up had been unnecessary.

Winter shook his hand, as perfectly sabacc-faced as he'd remembered she could be. "General."

"Hello, Winter," he nodded. "Good to see you again. You're looking well." He was careful not to look at Leia.

Winter raised an eyebrow but didn't miss a beat. "Likewise, Han." She smiled warmly and clasped his right hand in both of hers. "We'll have to catch up sometime."

He smiled. "You bet."

Winter turned to embrace a speechless Leia, and with another chime of the door she was gone.

He glanced at Leia with what he hoped was a look of absolute innocence and counted the seconds. He made it to four – possibly a record – before she spoke.

"You… you know each other?"

Even after all they'd been through, he still delighted in challenging her meticulously-ordered universe. "We were… business associates once, a long time ago," he shrugged nonchalantly.

Her confusion was obvious. "Business associates?" He could hear the familiar undertone of irritation in her voice. "Winter's been working undercover since before I met you."

Aware that he was enjoying her reaction just a little too much, he took her by the shoulders. "This job wasn't exactly above board. I'll tell you about it sometime," he promised. "But right now I'm beat, and I didn't sneak all the way over here to talk about Winter." He bent to kiss her.

She barely responded, her body stiff, arms crossed at the waist. When he drew away, her eyes were fixing him resolutely.

"Come on, it's late," he soothed. He crossed the lounge and sank into one of the overstuffed couches, motioning her over with a friendly nod.

She didn't move.

Uh oh.

"C'mere," he grinned disarmingly.

Still nothing.

He stifled a sigh and tried a different tactic. "What time's your first meeting tomorrow?" The clock was ticking on their hard-earned R&R.

"Who was Winter working for at the time?" Her voice was laced with suspicion.

"What? I don't know," he said tiredly. "Let's talk about this some other time, huh?"

"When was this, again? Because I don't recall – "

"Come on, Leia." He heard the edge in his own tone and saw her bristle. "Drop the cross-examination, okay? This isn't one of your council meetings."

She raised an eyebrow at him frostily.

He rubbed the back of his neck, realizing he was blowing it and that their carefully-engineered rendezvous was in danger of collapsing in on itself; tried to imagine her reaction if he casually scooped her up and carried her to the bedroom.

Bad idea, he decided. Even worse than spending the next hour recounting the humiliating Wukkar fiasco.

He took a breath. "Look," he explained as calmly as he could. "We worked together right after Yavin, and for a number of very good reasons she gave me her word she'd never mention it to anyone. All right? It was a business venture. And a pretty disastrous one at that," he added gruffly.

"I see," she said sharply. "It wasn't Alliance business, then?"

"What does it matter?" He glanced impatiently at the ornamental wall chrono, shook his head in frustration. "Why are we even talking about this?" Could this evening possibly steer any further off course?

"Because it's clear you're both covering up _something_!"

He dropped his head back against the cushions and stared up at the ceiling in exasperation.

How the hell could this be so hard when they were obviously crazy about each other? If they couldn't make these moments work, how would they manage once he was off on Cracken's unpredictable schedule?

The room was silent. She didn't move.

He closed his eyes, suddenly exhausted. Out of the blue, his weary brain conjured up her expression on that afternoon six weeks ago.

They'd been on their way to the officers' mess hall after the Endor debriefing, but had swung by her quarters so she could change out of her blaster-burned shirt.

Once inside her suite she'd paused in the doorway of the sleeping alcove, as if forgetting what she'd come for.

"You all right?" he'd asked her, reaching out to touch her shoulder.

She'd turned her head, cautiously meeting his eyes with a questioning gaze that had hammered home the realization that, for the first time since she'd freed him from carbon-freeze, they were absolutely alone: no Ewoks frolicking in the foliage, no droids prattling, no Imperials looming or generators to destroy or medics poking at his recently-thawed butt. Just the two of them, still alive against all odds, with nothing between them but a charred shirt and a long-suppressed hunger that had nothing whatsoever to do with the mess hall.

Funny how everything else in their relationship was rife with hurdles, but that pivotal moment had been entirely uncomplicated.

The cushion shifted beside him, jarring him back to the present. Had he fallen asleep?

"You awake?" Her hand was warm on his arm.

"Depends," he mumbled. Was that conciliation he heard in her voice? He rubbed his face wearily, saw her looking at him with concern.

"I don't know if you knew this," she said quietly, "but Winter and I grew up together. We were like sisters."

"Really. I had no idea you were so close," he commented, merely to say something, mostly just grateful for the shift in her mood.

"We were. So I find it a little strange that, all evening, she never mentioned having met you before."

"Why should she?" he shrugged. "Was I the topic of conversation?" He raised a suggestive eyebrow.

Leia met his insinuation with a challenging gaze of her own. "As a matter of fact, yes, you were."

He was taken off-guard by her admission. "Anything I should know about?" he grinned to mask his surprise.

She smiled thinly. "We haven't seen each other in ages. I was… filling her in on what's been happening in my life, that's all." She looked down at her clasped hands. "She never mentioned working with you, though. Or even knowing you, for that matter."

He watched her, intrigued with the idea of Leia telling her old friend about him. As far as he knew, it was the first time she'd outright announced their relationship to anyone. He was oddly pleased by the air of legitimacy it evoked.

"Or course," she was saying, still studying her hands, "something that happened years ago is, naturally, none of my business. And, certainly, I wouldn't hold it against either of you."

Her words struck him as suspiciously rehearsed, and her enunciation and formality had lapsed into what he'd long-ago labeled her Senatorial Dialect. Something about it triggered alarm bells in his mind. "Wait a minute. What are you saying?"

She looked up at him with an expression of sudden defiance.

He gaped in astonishment as understanding dawned on him. "You're suggesting Winter and I…?" he continued. He felt a smile tugging at his mouth.

She hesitated just a moment too long. "Of course not." But he'd caught the flash of relief in her eyes before she'd hurriedly looked away.

He gazed at her in amused wonder. "But that's what you thought."

"It most certainly was not," she countered curtly.

"Come on, it was, admit it." He grinned. "You were jealous…"

She sat up regally. "Don't be ridiculous."

"Sure looked like it to me."

"Absolutely not. Especially not over something that might have happened years ago."

"Okay," he conceded with a smile. "What was it that had you so riled up, then?"

She hesitated. "I was merely concerned that…" She faltered.

"That what?" he pressed her, wondering if he looked as smug as he felt.

"…that my oldest friend had possibly gotten herself involved with… with a scoundrel," she finished self-righteously.

There was a moment's pause, during which he stared at her incredulously before he burst into laughter.

Damn, he loved her.

In one impulsive motion he pinned her to the couch with his forearms, her body caught snugly beneath him. She made a point of resisting, doing her best to glare at him through the embarrassed laughter in her eyes.

"You know," he warned, his voice low and dangerous, his face millimeters from hers, "the story of how I met Winter is a long and incredibly pointless one, and rehashing it isn't anything close to what I'd planned on doing tonight." He shifted his weight against her suggestively. "But if that's really how you'd prefer to spend the next few hours…"

She stopped squirming, seemed to be considering her options, and for a moment he wondered if she might call his bluff. Her eyes were locked stubbornly on his in good-natured challenge. But he recognized the familiar flame in their depths, felt his blood quickening.

"That won't be necessary," she relented with dignity. "You can keep your secrets for now."

He grinned, kissed her at last.

Something clattered on the stone-carved floor, startling them both. He peered over the edge of the couch, reached down to retrieve the now-cracked datapad that had tumbled from his vest pocket. He looked the unit over carelessly, then tossed it aside.

She was frowning in feigned concern as he buried himself back into the depths of the couch with her. "Was that my Urgent Priority-One message?"

* * *

"What time's your first meeting tomorrow?" he mumbled into her hair.

"I don't have one."

"Huh?"

"You were in such a rush that I never did get a chance to tell you." Before he could dispute her recollection of events, she wriggled around in his arms to smile at him. "Winter was sent to relieve me for the remainder of the summit. That's why she's here, Han. We're off on assignment in the morning."

He was suddenly more awake. "We?"

"You and I, together. And Chewie, of course. I barely had to pull any strings for this one. HQ felt it was up your alley and they've cleared you to accompany me."

"Doing what?" Though, admittedly, after a string of clandestine encounters amidst high-security summits, to be off on their own in the Falcon sounded pretty damned good no matter what the mission.

"A contract negotiation for the X-wing targeting system upgrades."

"You knew this already when I saw you this afternoon?"

"Mmm hmm. Though I hadn't briefed Winter yet."

"Still, we could've spent the night on the Falcon instead of hanging around this hunk of rock," he noted accusingly.

She tousled his hair. "Maybe I wanted us to have a quiet evening together," she said, settling against his shoulder.

"You sure could've fooled me."

She harrumphed in reply.

He held her contentedly. This was the best news he'd heard in a while.

* * *

He sat up with a start, suddenly and fully awake. All he could recall was being trapped inside the void, looking out into darkness, frozen in time and space where nothing existed except the knowledge that Leia was watching over him from somewhere outside, his only hint of comfort in the entire universe.

She stirred now beside him. "Hey," she murmured. "You all right?"

"Yeah." He lay back down, nestled closer to her warmth. She experienced far worse dreams, he knew.

* * *

"You're still having nightmares…"

He ran his hand lazily over the curve of her hip without comment. In the diffused volcanic glow of morning his fingers looked strangely bronzed against her skin.

"How frequently are they occurring?"

He leaned in to nuzzle her neck. "They're not nightmares. Just dreams. And if you need to be asking me this, then we're obviously not spending enough time together."

"Seriously, Han. I think you should at least schedule a consultation with Too-Onebee."

"Now _that'll_ give me nightmares for sure," he grumbled against her throat, then leaned back with a frown: something was bunched into his side. He reached down to tug at the crumpled silk camisole and evaluated it approvingly. "Were you wearing stuff like this to bed all these years?"

She eyed him defiantly. "When appropriate."

He raised his eyebrows. "Define _appropriate_."

"Certainly not Hoth." She shivered visibly at the memory.

He laughed, nibbled her shoulder. "What _was_ appropriate sleepwear for Hoth? That little zippered snowsuit?"

"I thought we were talking about _your_ sleep troubles," she chided.

"We are." He kissed her collarbone. "I had a dream about that snowsuit."

"Last night?" She sounded baffled.

It had been back on Echo Base, actually, but he didn't bother clarifying. Instead he lowered his mouth and began a leisurely meander towards the apex of her breast.

"What was it about?" she prompted him.

He grunted in reply as his mouth found its goal, accompanied by her soft intake of breath and the echo of his own response stirring against her thigh.

Her hands slid up to cup his face. "We're running late," she murmured regretfully into his ear as she shifted, gently disengaging herself. "I'd like to shower, housekeeping will be here any minute and we haven't had breakfast yet." With a graceful movement she wriggled out of his arms.

"Hey," he protested as she moved out of reach. "I thought you wanted to hear about my dream. It might reveal something significant."

She smiled knowingly. "Yes, I'm sure my snowsuit will prove to be _significantly revealing_."

Busted. He grinned and made a grab for her but she deftly evaded him.

"Actually," he grumbled as she made her escape, "all those little zippers kept getting stuck. How's that for significant?"

He heard a sympathetic chuckle as she headed toward the fresher. "Have some breakfast," she suggested over her shoulder.

Chagrined, he flopped onto his stomach, his face sinking into the pillow. The beddings were scented with tantalizing traces of their recent activities.

He heard the muffled spray of water, pictured her slender form stepping into the shower, water cascading over her skin. He rolled over and sat up; glanced with indifference at the dome-covered breakfast tray which had been delivered some time ago.

Wisps of steam began to roll invitingly through the fresher doorway. He yawned and scratched his stomach, wondering how determined she really was to rush out of here.

Worth investigating, he decided.

Having pursued her and encountered resistance for so long, the recently-discovered privileges which he'd been granted still occasionally amazed him.

* * *

"There's no time for that now," she reminded him, a touch accusingly, as he peeked under the tray's thermo-dome. The generous spread provided for the delegates looked infinitely better than the slop he'd been served in the subterranean mess hall yesterday afternoon.

She waited by the open suite door, travel-case in hand, lips pursed impatiently as he hurriedly dumped an assortment of breakfast pastries into the tablecloth pilfered from the serving cart.

"For Chewie," he shrugged defensively. "He loves these little fancy things." And a peace offering couldn't hurt after keeping the big guy waiting so long.

Out in the hallway, the housekeeping droid blinked the time at them in silent reproach.

* * *

"These techs are definitely a paranoid operation, judging by the difficulty we had in coordinating communication," Leia briefed them as they sat in the Falcon's lounge. "But apparently they're pros. They're also sympathetic to our position, not to mention our current financial constraints, and they're willing to negotiate."

Nice to know the Alliance's dwindling funds weren't being entirely squandered on fancy breakfasts for self-serving politicians, Han thought as he finished off a savory Belthusian bun. He reached for another from the pastries piled atop the smuggled cloth which now graced the dejarik table. "Does this paranoid outfit have a name?"

She glanced at her datapad. "It's run by a man named Vandangante."

Chewie woofed appreciatively.

Han nearly choked on his pastry. "Doc."

"You know him?"

He nodded, chewing and swallowing violently as he leaned in close to look at her datapad. "He's the best. Chewie and I dealt with him before. His people did some major work on the Falcon over the years."

"Are they trustworthy?"

"Absolutely. In fact," he mused, "I might take the opportunity to have them swap out that dish. Our old ANq-51 came from them, and, no offense, but what Procurement slapped on last month is a security fiasco waiting to happen."

Leia considered this, lightly tapping her fingertips together. "If we can work out a solid deal within our proposed budget, I could approve your new toy coming out of Alliance coffers."

Han glanced happily over at Chewie. "Think Jess can hunt down a qv-63 for us?" This assignment was getting better all the time.

"Jess?"

"Jessa Vandangante. It's a family operation."

Across the table, Chewie muttered a Shyriiwook proverb into a flakey Arduinian puff-bun.

Leia looked quizzically at Chewie, then back at Han.

"Just some old Wookiee poetry," Han said dismissively. He frowned at Chewie, though he doubted Leia could translate the archaic phrasing, let alone begin to decipher the arboreal metaphor aimed at Han's supposedly feeble understanding of sentient females.

"Poetry?" Leia looked back at Chewie, intrigued.

"Yeah, he gets all cultured like that sometimes," Han grumbled. "Must be this fancy food. Just ignore him."

Chewie chuffed scornfully at Han through a mouthful of puff-bun.

Han ignored his words and brushed at the lounge-seat with impatience. "Look at this, you're making a mess."

The Wookiee rumbled menacingly, fluffs of pastry fluttering from his whiskers.

Leia looked back and forth between the two of them.

"I think I'll go and review my notes," she stated drily, blowing crumbs off her datapad and heading to the cockpit.

After she left, Chewie grumbled a low, lengthy warning at him.

"What are you talking about?" Han challenged, though he was now running the simulation of Jessa meeting Leia and feeling a little uneasy.

Chewie shook his head in reproach and reached for the tray.

"Hey!" Han frowned at the rapidly diminishing spread. "Save some for the rest of us, you big bantha."

Chewie eyed him calmly and helped himself to two of the remaining pastries.


	2. Youthful Indiscretions

**Transitions (2/5) by Sabacc Gal**

**Part 2: Youthful Indiscretions**

"Han Solo, as I live and breathe," Jessa greeted them on the tarmac as they emerged from Doc's office on the way to the dining hall.

"How are you, Jess?"

"Flattered that you're gracing us with your presence, Solo. Breaking from the upper-crust to slum it for a day, just for old times' sake?"

"That, and I heard that business is so good around here that you're taking on charity cases," he smiled.

"Don't look at me." She shook her head scornfully, then lowered her voice. "The old man's getting dotty in his declining years." She tapped her head, casting a surreptitious look at Doc, who rolled his eyes in a gesture of long-suffering resignation.

Han had to laugh. The old man had spent the past three hours sharply matching wits with Leia while they'd hammered out an intricate deal that would compensate Doc adequately while keeping High Command happy and netting the Falcon her dish in the process.

Doc motioned respectfully. "Princess Leia, may I introduce you to Jessa, my smart-mouthed daughter."

"Daughter and head tech," Jessa clarified, inclining her head to Leia. "Pleased to meet you, your highness." She glanced at Han with an amused look that made him a touch nervous.

Leia nodded gracefully. "Your reputation precedes you. This is quite the impressive operation."

"Thank you," Jessa smiled. She looked sternly at Han. "You've been mistreating that little lady of yours?"

"Wasn't me," he assured her glumly.

"You let someone else at the controls?" Jessa looked shocked. "Your one and only love?" She shook her head in disbelief. Though she never glanced at Leia, Han recognized the mischief in Jessa's eyes. "I bumped into Chewie when I was looking the poor girl over," she went on, "and directed him to the dining hall." She looked back to Leia and Doc. "If you don't mind joining him and starting lunch without us, I'd like to first clarify a few technical specifications with the general here about that QV he's requested."

"Of course," Leia smiled smoothly. It was a well-honed diplomatic expression that Han knew well, and which worried him ever so slightly.

* * *

"How'd you get hooked up with that crowd?" Jessa asked as they walked across the tarmac, the expansive landing pad expertly camouflaged under its canopy of trees.

"Long story," he shrugged.

"When I got wind of the rumors I thought it had to be a mistake."

He sighed. "Yeah, I've heard that a lot."

"But it's not, is it. You're in this for real, no scam up your sleeve." She tossed him a mocking look. "You losing your edge, Solo?"

He grunted noncommittally, feeling inexplicably defensive.

When they reached the Falcon he saw that her techs were already halfway done with the dish installation. Not that he was surprised.

"Nice work," he commented after he'd had a closer look. "Gotta say, you're more trusting with payment than you used to be." He glanced at her. "You losing your edge, Jess?"

She smirked. "All Doc's doing," she insisted. "He's always had a soft spot for the rebellion. And an even softer spot for you and the Wook." Her voice grew quieter. "He still feels he owes you, you know."

"We were even a long time ago," he shrugged dismissively, turning back to the Falcon.

She stopped him with a hand on his arm and met his eyes. "When Doc disappeared at Star's End, you asked me if I'd go on a crying jag if it was you who'd gone missing. Remember that?"

He was silent, a little uncomfortable that she recalled his harsh words so distinctly.

He watched her face grow soft. "When I heard that Fett had caught up with you, I came close, Han." She touched his cheek. "I'm glad you're safe."

He reached up, took her hand and squeezed it lightly.

"It's good to see you, Jess," he smiled, then released her hand and swallowed uneasily, recalling the last time they'd stood together like this.

She studied him in silence for so long that he had to glance away. When he looked back at her again, he found her gaze fixed on the far end of the tarmac. "A general, Solo?" Her voice sounded distant. Then she glanced back at him, and the friendly scorn was back in her eyes. "Can you tell me what the hell that's about?"

He grinned. "Honestly," he shook his head, "I'm still trying to figure it out myself."

"I expected to see you in uniform." She glanced skeptically at his old shipboard vest and trousers.

"I _am_ in uniform," he assured her.

"Things must be even worse than we thought," she snorted. "I have to say, though, it was pretty strategic of you to come in person to negotiate with Doc."

He nearly laughed. "Your people knew I was coming before I did, Jess. I didn't even know who the contract was with until we were halfway here."

She frowned at him in disbelief. "Same old Solo, jumping into hyperspace without a clue, counting on blind luck to save his ass." She clucked derisively. "What does that pretty little princess see in a space bum like you, anyway?"

Blindsided, he had no ready retort for that.

He was spared by the crackle of her comlink. "Code 7. Intruder ship intercepted, Jess," a voice sounded over the static. "ETA two minutes, landing pad Cresh-2."

His mind flashed to Leia. With a quick glance at Jessa he headed off at a run toward the dining hall at the far end of the tarmac.

"Han!" he heard Jessa call.

Halfway across the landing strip he was met by half-a-dozen techs. He slowed, then stopped as they blocked his way, weapons in hand. "Solo," he heard Jessa's voice again, and turned to see her following him at a leisurely pace.

"Calm down," she frowned when she'd reached him. "They'll never find this place – we're not amateurs, remember? We've got them detained at a decoy pad."

He cocked his head in annoyance at the techs. She nodded and they put away their weapons.

"Where's the decoy pad? I'd like to check this out for myself," he announced tersely.

"Right, Solo. So on the off chance that it's you they're after, you can give them your calling card?" She shook her head. "Not on our turf," she said firmly. "We have our own procedures. The decoy's off-limits, anyway. No exceptions, especially for trigger-happy idiots."

He thought about that. "Any ID on the ship?"

She shrugged. "It's definitely not Imperial, so relax. Some sort of small pleasure craft. Lost tourist, maybe. It happens. The timing's a little suspicious, but my guys'll run a thorough check and deal with them accordingly."

He frowned, thinking about how Leia would take this.

She motioned toward the dining hall. "Come on, let's join Chewie for a bite. You seem a little worried about the big lug," she scoffed. "More so than your precious ship, which is hard to believe."

He glanced at her, but she'd already started walking and didn't meet his eye.

* * *

"How did Vandangante know you needed a new dish?" Leia asked as the three of them slurped takabi noodles around the dejarik table.

"Sweetheart, Doc finds out everything he wants to know about a client before he'll accept to meet. This whole thing was a done deal before we even landed. Trust me on that one."

She frowned. He'd known she wouldn't like it. He braced himself for more questions.

"You and Jessa were involved?"

It was definitely not the line of inquiry he was expecting.

Chewie rumbled and excused himself, throwing Han a _Told you so!_ look as he pushed back his bowl and headed down the passageway.

They watched him make his escape.

"The boss's daughter, Han?" She arched an eyebrow. "How strategic."

"It was a long time ago," he grumbled, poking at his noodles. He didn't bother asking what had given it away.

"And her father knew this?"

He shrugged sheepishly.

"Yet he still gave us a good deal on the upgrades…" she mused.

He looked up from his bowl and grinned. "He probably wanted me out of there as quick as possible."

She laughed. He saw her begin to say something, then change her mind as she studied him skeptically.

"What?" he asked.

She shook her head, eying him with amusement.

"Whatever it is, just say it," he challenged her grumpily, turning back to the depths of his bowl to chase a sliver of meat around the broth.

She hesitated. "I'm trying to phrase this without adding fuel to your ego."

"Oh?" He lifted his head in surprise. "Well, then, let's have it. I can handle it." He grinned reassuringly. "Deep down I'm actually a humble guy."

From the far end of the passageway Chewie roared a rather crude opinion of his captain's humility.

"Why don't you just come on back here so you don't have to strain those furry ears of yours," Han hollered over his shoulder.

The lounge whooshed with the faint echo of a hatchway sliding closed.

He turned back to Leia. "Sorry. You were saying?"

She smiled. "I was saying that, even accounting for your humility, I think on occasion you might actually underestimate your appeal, Captain."

"Meaning…" he frowned, trying to think through the compliment.

"Never mind. Jessa's not the first woman from your past to surprise me, and I fully expect she won't be the last."

He chuckled. "I hate to disillusion you, sweetheart, but the trail of broken-hearted females in my wake is a lot shorter than my, ah, reputation might suggest."

"And I'm suggesting perhaps you don't always see it," she smiled mystically. "Though I do agree that Jessa Vandangante doesn't seem like the broken-hearted type. More… regretful."

"Regretful?" He raised his eyebrows and studied her expression curiously.

She thought for a moment. "Why do you think I kept you at a distance as long as I did?"

"Because you were too much of a proper princess to jump a great opportunity when it presented itself?"

"Yes, well, besides that."

He dropped the banter as he suddenly guessed where this was going. "Because you thought I was going to take off?" he suggested quietly.

"No." She shook her head. "Because I _knew_ you were going to take off. Just like I'm guessing Jessa knew, and everyone around you knew."

He pushed back his bowl, reached for her hand and tugged her onto his lap. She didn't even make a show of resisting.

"I'm not taking off anytime soon," he assured her.

"Hmmm," she nodded. "Why is that, anyway?" Her tone was teasing, but he detected genuine curiosity in her expression.

He thought about it, chose his words carefully. "Well, you didn't pull a blaster on me when I made my move on you in the asteroid field."

"I came close," she said with defiance.

"Close doesn't count, sweetheart. It's as good as throwing yourself at me." He gave her his best smug grin. "And any princess who throws herself at me, I consider hanging around for."

She gave a quiet laugh, but there was a touch of skepticism in her eyes. When she spoke her voice was soft. "Are you saying you wouldn't have gone to Jabba's after all?"

It was something they'd never once managed to discuss with civility back when it mattered. The subject had remained an emotional minefield right up until it was abruptly rendered moot.

"No." He glanced away. "I needed to do that. I really did. But up until then, I never knew if I had a reason to come back afterwards." He met her eyes tentatively. "And for once, I guess I was looking for one."

She considered this for a moment. And, judging by the way she leaned in and kissed him, he guessed she approved of his explanation.

* * *

"No one else dared, you know," she murmured against his chest when their breathing had slowed.

He could hear Chewie's snores from the other end of the ship and decided they hadn't woken him. "Dared what?"

"Make a move on me."

He saw her again in the chaotic string of bases from Yavin to Hoth: a stunning and diminutive spitfire barely out of her teens, all strategies and orders and action. He'd observed rooms of battle-hardened soldiers fall into respectful silence when she entered, and stare after her in speechless admiration when she left.

"Believe me, I wasn't the only one who thought about it. I was just the only one stupid enough to act on it."

She chuckled. "For the record, I _would've_ pulled a blaster on anyone else."

"I'm glad to hear it." He pulled her closer and kissed her head, wondering how he'd gotten so lucky.

After a moment she spoke again. "How old were you, your first time?"

He raised his eyebrows at this unexpected tangent. "Depends how you define it," he shrugged evasively.

She lifted her head to look at him. Her expression was gentle, devoid of any mockery. "Define it however you'd like."

He tugged at the tangled bedding, wrestled a blanket back up into position against the breeze of recycled air.

"Fifteen," he mumbled. He glanced at her, trying to gauge her reaction in the faint glow of the bunk's chrono.

The flicker of her eyes led him to guess she was doing the math, and he wondered which it was: Her own age at the time? (Five, he'd computed long ago with some alarm.) How many years ago it had been? (Eighteen, he calculated now. Unbelievable.) How much older than fifteen she'd been her first time? (He could compute it to the day, having played a non-trivial role in this recently-established milestone.)

Whatever conclusions she came to, she kept them to herself. "I'm guessing you were a handsome teen," was all she said, gazing at him thoughtfully as if she were trying to imagine him at that age.

The eighteen-year-old memory was surprisingly clear.

The swoop race barbecues had always been memorable events because they meant he could eat his fill: a rare treat, despite Dewlanna's best efforts, especially since he'd hit the ravenous stage of puberty. But on this particular occasion he'd won first place, which meant that for a week, maybe even two, Shrike would think twice about beating the crap out of him.

And just when he'd thought life didn't get any better than sweet victory smothered in tangy rib sauce, one of the wealthy local girls had flirted with him for close to an hour before taking him into a remote cabana room, a stunningly pristine cubicle smelling of freshly laundered towels, perfumed soap and an enormous white flower floating in a blue bowl on the counter.

It had been fumbling and quick and beyond amazing to his fifteen-year-old hormone-flooded mind. It was only when they'd emerged, flushed and sticky, from the cabana, and he'd spotted three giggling faces peering from behind a nearby tree, that it had occurred to him that it all might have been part of some stupid dare.

He'd felt a crash of humiliation but forced it down and called out, as brashly as he could manage, "You waiting your turn, or what?"

The trio had shrieked and shoved and retreated to the hidden safety of the tree.

"They always follow you around like this?" he'd shot derisively at the girl to cover his embarrassment, noticing smears of barbecue sauce on her expensive-looking outfit and realizing, with vindictive pride, that he'd been the one to put them there.

She'd rolled her eyes. "Don't mind them. They've been mooning over you all afternoon, but none of them had the guts to even come talk to you."

_Mooning over him?_ His mind had reeled at the revelation.

He'd buried his astonishment in a shrug. "Their loss," he'd grinned at her.

She'd smiled back, almost shyly in light of what she'd initiated barely an hour ago. "I have to go," she'd said softly. "I'll see you around sometime?"

"Sure," he'd nodded, knowing he never would. If Shrike's scheme went down successfully she'd never want to see him again unless it was to identify him in a criminal line-up.

She'd walked over to the crowded tree amidst a renewed chorus of giggles.

And then, spirits soaring – _Mooning? Really?_ – he'd gone back to the barbecue to polish off two more plates of ribs while keeping an eye out for her giggling friends, because he'd long ago learned not to let serendipitous opportunities go to waste.

She'd been pretty, and nice to him, but it never occurred to him to warn her about the scam. Likely because the idea would have seemed completely futile.

He'd felt so powerless growing up in Shrike's clutches. It wasn't something he was prepared to share with anyone. Not yet, anyway.

Leia was propped up on an elbow, still looking at him affectionately.

"I was a punk," he cautioned her. "The kind of kid everybody probably warned you to stay away from."

She kissed his shoulder, apparently undeterred. "Isn't a punk simply the younger version of a scoundrel?"

He smiled at the oblique compliment. "Trust me, you would've pulled a blaster on this kid for sure."

She laughed, her breath warm against his skin. "Are there any pictures of this young scoundrel?" The hint of hope in her voice suggested to him that she'd already conducted her own search without success.

"Nope. Sorry." He'd paid Nici the Specialist a hefty sum to make sure of that.

"None at all?" Her tone was light, but he sensed her disappointment. Her fingers traced soft patterns on his chest.

He shook his head. "Really, there's nothing," he said quietly. "I had to wipe everything before applying to Carida."

To her credit she didn't pursue it. Instead she kissed his shoulder again, and was silent for a long time.

* * *

He sat up with a start, suddenly and fully awake. All he could recall was being trapped inside a void, looking out into darkness, frozen in time and space where nothing existed but the knowledge that Leia was watching over him from somewhere outside, his only hint of comfort in the entire universe.

He lay back down, careful not to wake her, vaguely disoriented to realize they were in her bed on Home One rather than his bunk on the Falcon; they'd come back late last night, he remembered dimly through the pounding of his heart.

The dream had originated from carbon-freeze. It was how he visualized his captivity, when he cared to visualize it at all. It was his only memory of that lost period of his life. Eight months, they'd told him, during which his chances of slipping into permanent insanity had been higher than not.

He also knew for a fact that he shouldn't have been able to remember anything at all.

He was still awake when the blatt of the comm station sounded. Leia stirred, rose quietly, padded over to the console. The last grip of claustrophobia was fading as he heard the voice of Home One's dispatch officer.

"Transmission for General Solo. Security verification required, channel 3-7. Sender Jessa Vandangante."

He pulled on some clothes and tried not to think too hard about the fact that, without even bothering to raise him on his personal comlink, Communications had known to patch a secure connection to Leia's suite at the crack of standard dawn. So much for the appearance of propriety.

* * *

"Did I wake you, Solo?" She looked amused.

"Morning Jess, what's up?"

"Just thought you'd want to know that the ship we intercepted when you were here was registered to a journalist. The guy insisted he took a wrong turn, but a scan of his hardware suggests he's more than a little interested in you and your new friends."

"A journalist?" From where he sat at the console he could see Leia mirroring his frown, just out of comm visual range.

"I hate to say it, but it looks like he traced your signal through that pathetic excuse of a dish we ripped out of your pride and joy."

"Shit. Sorry, Jess." He glanced meaningfully at Leia, who had the decency to look guilty on behalf of Alliance Procurement.

"All in a day's work. You have my word that this clown didn't get any info out of us here," Jessa assured him. "But I thought you'd want a heads-up."

"Thanks. You got ID on this guy?"

"Human male named Masa Trelik, freelances for the tabloids. His credentials check out. I'm sending you what we turned up. You're surprisingly photogenic, Solo, but if you decide you need a top-notch slicer..."

"Gotcha." He exchanged a concerned look with Leia as the incoming images flashed in quick succession in the upper corner of the screen.

"You've got my scramble code if you need to reach me. In any case, watch yourself," Jessa warned, "unless you're eager to see your arrogant mug splashed across the entertainment feeds instead of the wanted posters for a change."

He swallowed thickly. "Thanks, Jess. Tell Doc I appreciate it."

"Will do, Han. Take good care of Chewie and that pretty little sweetheart of yours. And a royal wave to the princess." Jessa glanced off-screen with a palm flutter aimed uncannily in Leia's direction.

"Uh, yeah," he signed off.

He looked over at Leia.

She arched an eyebrow. "She has style, I'll give her that." Her face turned serious as she moved to his side to study the images Jessa had transmitted.

All were from the Sladimar Summit, and all featured Leia, both alone and with other delegates. There were also several of him and Leia in the grand hallway outside the main conference hall. A few more of them leaving the following morning, the tablecloth-wrapped pastries tucked under his arm. Han could imagine the tabloid speculation regarding the contents of the bundle: Military secrets? Spice? Alderaanian heirlooms? He was willing to bet nobody would suggest Belthusian buns.

At least summit security had successfully kept the press out of the delegates' wing, so no shots of either of them directly entering or leaving her suite. And either the guy had some scruples or the perimeter jamming fields had done their job, so no indiscreet remote-cam window shots. The very thought made Han's blood boil.

But there were close-ups of Leia pressing the datacard into Han's hand outside the conference hall, and one of her hand on his arm the following morning on their way to the Falcon, which was all Han needed to confirm that this guy was after more than conference highlights.

A quick scan of the newsfeeds turned up nothing. Whatever it was, it was still in the works.

"You want me to get Jessa on it? Her slicers could disappear anything we want."

"No," Leia said firmly. "Legally he's done nothing wrong, and if word got out it could have negative repercussions."

"Leia, this guy wasn't covering the summit. He was covering _you_. Personally."

"Publicity is the price of victory," she sighed.

"Where I come from, publicity is rarely a good thing."

"Well, I'm sorry to say that I grew up with this. You do get used to it." She slid her hand from the chair-back to his shoulder, squeezing it apologetically. "And there _will_ be more, Han, no matter how many precautions we take."

"Great," he grumbled. He brought up Masa Trelik's official bio, committing the details to memory with a determination he'd once reserved for bounty-hunters.


	3. Covert Action

**Transitions (3/5) by Sabacc Gal**

**Part 3: Covert Action**

"_Your file shows you've recently turned down a promotion, Solo. Care to explain why?"_

"_I like the challenge of flying, sir. With all due respect, it's what I do best. Commanding a fleet doesn't even come close."_

"_Duly noted. I understand you're unhappy with my request to have you pulled from supply runs?"_

"_You understand correctly. Sir."_

"_Good. I trust you'll find this project challenging enough for you, with the knowledge that I'm sparing your insubordinate ass from a sorrier fate."_

"_Yes, sir." You jackass son of a tyrant bitch._

* * *

Han had never regretted leaving behind the bantha-shit side of military life. But he'd lived it thoroughly enough that he'd never forgotten the importance of how to play it.

To say that Cracken's project was challenging would be an understatement, though Han sure as hell would never admit it to the man. Just like he'd never admit that Cracken, controlling bastard that he was, had been right to target him for it.

That hot piece of Imperial prototype had blown him away, beautiful and sleek and responsive under his touch, like no other fighter he'd ever flown. Working with Cracken's team to figure out its workings was exhilarating, and Han could think of few people besides himself who would have been better suited to carry this out. And, admittedly, to be gone for a few weeks at a time doing something he loved was infinitely better than a six-month deployment – endless days of glorified desk-work disguised as a gift-wrapped promotion – which was clearly what Cracken's threat about a sorrier fate had been about.

Cracken had him by the balls, and he found he was all too willing to comply. Much as he resented the man himself, Han had to admire his strategy.

* * *

He studied the pokey shuttle's dimmed chrono display.

Counted the hours left until standard morning.

Tried to mentally estimate the jump coordinates to the rendezvous she'd arranged in the hopes of boring himself back to sleep before his mind could wander, but it was a lost cause.

"_How did you get that scar?" she asked without lowering the macrobinoculars._

_He'd only recently found out her age, had been mulling over how astoundingly self-assured she was for nineteen, sitting there beside him in the dimly-lit cockpit, a Defender strapped to her thigh, a pair of macrobinocs in her hands and a detailed surveillance map displayed on the datapad in her lap. Nine hours into a mind-numbingly dull surveillance shift in which even he had run out of conversation topics – witty, provocative, or offensive – her question caught him by surprise. _

"_Which one?" He cocked his head suggestively. "I've got a few to choose from." He made a show of untucking his shirt. _

_She put down the binoculars and rolled her eyes. "The one on your chin." _

"_Oh, that." He released his shirt-tail with a disappointed shrug. "Got that one in a knife fight." _

"_Very heroic," she remarked skeptically. "It couldn't possibly be something mundane, like slipping with a hydrospanner, or hitting the edge of a bar stool in a drunken stupor?"_

"_It's the honest truth," he sighed. "By the time I got to a med-kit it had healed over."_

"_Most people would have it removed."_

"_Yeah, maybe." He yawned and stretched indifferently. "I don't know. Why? You think it's worth the trouble?" _

_She swiveled the co-pilot's chair to face him, studied his features with a vaguely amused expression. _

_He found himself enjoying the scrutiny, the subdued frankness of it something of a rarity between them, a testament to how utterly bored they both were. _

"_No," she finally opined. "It's a good flaw. Rugged-looking." He raised his eyebrows wickedly and she hastened to add, "It suits your disreputable image."_

"_Yeah, that's what all the rebel women say." He winked at her. "You want to chime in your opinion on the other ones while you're at it?" He tugged once more at the hem of his shirt. _

Of course at this point she'd merely snorted and picked up the binoculars again.

But the exchange had inspired a number of dreams, variations on a theme in which the feisty princess took him up on his offer, each new scenario more seductively out-of-character than the previous.

Four years ago he'd simply accepted that this was as good as it was going to get for the moment. But now, so close to seeing her again after six weeks with Cracken, dreams like this one merely frustrated him.

* * *

Chewie's fur glowed red in the firelight. The Wookiee was sitting with his back propped against a massive tree-trunk, his bow caster across his knees. He was rumbling contentedly, clearly in his element.

"Not quite as majestic as a wroshyr tree, but we've been to plenty worse places for a pickup," Han agreed. And escorting Leia on a string of sensitive pickups wasn't exactly the most perfect way to spend his leave, but better than a stuffy summit any day.

They sat in a clearing, waiting for their contact to show for the scheduled data exchange. As instructed they'd hiked the three kilometers from the landing area to the pickup point, then waited for darkness to fall before lighting a small campfire in the stone-ringed pit.

Unseen creatures croaked, chirped and buzzed in the shadows beyond the flickering flames. The sky sparkled overhead. Leia added another stick to the fire, then sat back beside him.

Han felt relaxed and at peace; Chewie's love for the forest could be contagious at times.

"For a space jockey you seem surprisingly comfortable in the wilderness," Leia observed.

He glanced at her. "So do you, for a princess." Clad in loose fatigues, her braids tucked up beneath the standard-issue cap, she looked casually gorgeous and nearly as carefree as Chewie.

She smiled. "Alderaan had the most beautiful conservation areas. My father took me on wilderness excursions whenever he could." _Father_ meant Bail, always and without hesitation. "From the time I was three he involved me with carrying provisions, lighting campfires, putting up the shelter. It made me feel useful."

"Sounds nice," he said truthfully.

"It was." She shook her head wistfully. "I'm sure he never imagined those skills would serve me so well in my political career." She looked up at him. "Where did you pick up your outdoor experience?"

He shrugged. "Here and there. Nothing formal. My first night alone in the woods as a kid wasn't exactly planned, but I managed all right."

Chewie was watching them in silence, seemingly intrigued.

"Were you lost?" Leia prompted him after a moment.

"Something like that," he mumbled evasively. "For a space-brat it should have been scary as hell."

"But it wasn't?"

"Not as much as you might think."

Leia stared silently into the fire. Chewie grumbled a mild complaint about Han's storytelling skills.

He shrugged again. "Being out there alone made me realize that life was happening everywhere. That all those creatures were managing just fine on their own, finding food and shelter, whatever they needed, without having to depend on anybody else."

"The Han Solo trademark," Leia said softly to the fire.

_Inspired by cute little woodland creatures_, Chewie added merrily.

"Who said anything about cute?" Han grumbled, poking at the fire. "I'm talking eskrats and lizard-wraiths." At least that's what Shrike had hinted at when dumping problem kids into the wilds to frighten them into submission.

Leia looked up at him. She hadn't reacted to Chewie's words; either she hadn't caught the Shyriiwook, or she'd been lost in thought, or both. "Nothing ever really throws you for a loop, does it, Han," she commented gently. "Why is that?"

Chewie barked his opinion: _Stupidity_.

From Leia's smile it was clear she'd understood that particular word. "As opposed to courage?"

Chewie chuffed scornfully. Leia glanced at Han for interpretation.

"He says the difference between courage and stupidity is all in the roots," he volunteered.

Leia considered this, obviously perplexed. Chewie rumbled a low warning at Han.

"It loses a little in the translation," Han admitted.

Chewie growled impatiently.

"All right, I'll try, don't lose your temper." Han turned to Leia. "It's a Wookiee saying, that describes how any idiot can appear brave when he's got nothing to lose, but that real courage happens when you're actually risking something to do what you need to do." He looked at Chewie. "Better?"

Chewie reluctantly grunted his assent.

Leia raised an eyebrow in apparent fascination. "Do you two often discuss Wookiee philosophy in your spare time?"

Chewie chuffed derisively at his captain's intellectual and moral shortcomings in this area, listing off several embarrassing examples to prove his point.

Leia, obviously not understanding, again looked to Han for an explanation.

"He says the philosophical nature of our discussions doesn't lend itself to translation," Han nodded sagely, "and to do them justice the princess will just have to wait until her comprehension improves."

Chewie chortled indignantly.

Leia laughed and shook her head. "It's all right, Chewie, I know when I'm being hoodwinked." She got up from Han's side to sit next to the Wookiee. "Start again, a little more slowly."

Chewie, still chuckling at Han reproachfully, moved close to her and began again with a simplified – and somewhat sanitized, Han noted gratefully – attempt, patiently providing alternative vocabulary and the occasional pantomime as Leia struggled to decode the Shyriiwook phrases.

"I was a little drunk that time," Han volunteered in his own defense. Chewie and Leia ignored him.

He took in the quiet night air, watching them contentedly, the two people he cared most about in all the galaxy.

Back on Bespin, when he'd instructed a desperately-destructive Chewie to look after Leia, he'd known the Wookiee would be honor-bound to comply. It had been a purely practical request, a last-ditch attempt to protect them both.

But this? He'd definitely been taken aback by it as he'd tried to piece together what he'd missed while he'd been out of action.

"So when did you two get so chummy?" he'd asked them casually one night, after witnessing their camaraderie over a game of dejarik. They'd looked up at him, then at each other. Han had caught a sobering glance pass between the two.

Leia had looked back down to study the game pieces. "When our favourite Corellian was taken from us," she'd said matter-of-factly, just before Chewie's roar of protest as she'd victoriously captured his strider.

Oddly, this simple explanation hadn't occurred to him.

* * *

He sat up with a start, suddenly and fully awake. All he could recall was being trapped inside a void, looking out into darkness, frozen in time and space where nothing existed but the knowledge that Leia was watching over him from somewhere outside, his only hint of comfort in the entire universe.

She was awake now too, gently rubbing his back. He lay back down, absorbing the sensations, solid and reassuring: the feel of her skin against his; the sound of Chewie's snores from across the ship; the light from the chrono, the scent of her hair, the sweet taste of air flowing into his lungs.

* * *

The cantina bustled chaotically around them. Their final pickup complete, they'd wanted to grab a bite before heading back across the sprawling city to the docks. Leia had eyed the establishment dubiously but had followed him in without a word.

As much as he occasionally enjoyed the great outdoors, _this_ was the sort of place where Han felt truly at home. Here he could sit, plan, have a drink, disappear in a wink if needed. Deals could be made, employment obtained, payment collected, all in the comfort of a darkened booth where anonymity was both sought and respected.

His own plate long empty, he silently watched her eat, conscious that his first leave was coming to an end.

It was at moments like this that he toyed with the idea of taking off with her. Technically, it would be so easy. Melting into the woodwork of a dumpy cantina, their trail wiped clean by a backroom slicer, they could lose themselves in the everyday workings of the mid-rim's oblivious population.

And after that?

That was where the fantasy always crumbled, of course. But still, it was reassuring to know that the option existed.

Leia nudged his foot under the table, jarring him back to reality with a nod towards the bar.

Two humans and a Mirialan, students by the looks of them, sat in animated conversation. Dumped at their feet were book-bags, fashionably tattered and slogan-scrawled. It was these that Leia seemed to be looking at.

On one of the bags, amidst calls for peace and rallying cries condemning the Emperor, Han recognized a stylized sketch of Dith Dibbers, the revolutionary who'd led the uprising against his planet's slave-ruling upper-class.

A second bag was thoroughly covered with slogans, including _Alderaan: Never Again_, a sentiment poignantly clichéd enough that Leia, of all people, certainly wouldn't have felt the need to draw it to his attention.

It was the third which left him dumbfounded. The tattooed scrawl, _Fight for Freedom_, was hardly unusual among the young would-be-intellectual crowd. But above the words he noticed the artistically-inked image of a Wookiee, fur flying, eyes blazing fiercely, bow caster held at the ready as he stood shoulder-to-shoulder in solidarity with a disturbingly-recognizable human, a dark-haired male aiming a stunningly-detailed DL-44.

Leia caught his eye, her wariness obviously tempered by amusement.

He was speechless. In the weeks since Endor, word of the battle had spread like wildfire, of course. But this? What the hell. What next, Ackbar victory mugs for sale in the marketplace?

He glanced around the room apprehensively, thankful that Chewie had stayed behind on the Falcon. He imagined his co-pilot's laughter, the Wookiee's belly-roars so loud they would certainly have drawn attention to their table. Would the students have recognized them, blowing their cover?

Might they still, even without Chewie's distinctive presence?

"Let's get out of here," he grumbled, tossing a handful of credits on the table as he self-consciously moved to keep his face and blaster out of the bar's line of sight.

She hurried to match his stride as they left the cantina behind them. "You don't think they might have appreciated an autograph?" she quipped.

He grabbed her hand and threaded his way through the crowded streets, feeling exposed and vulnerable.

* * *

Back at the Falcon, Chewie chortled as raucously as Han had imagined he would.

"Yeah, laugh it up, buddy. And don't get cocky, they didn't even draw you right. Your markings were off and they messed up your crossbow."

Chewie chuffed good-naturedly.

"Well, too bad you weren't there, Mr. Hero. You could've set them straight." He checked the jump coordinates before feeding them into the navicomputer.

They'd missed the custom detail on his BlasTech, he reflected with grim satisfaction. At least that was still his own.

* * *

"They overlooked the scar on your chin, as well," Leia remarked innocently back on Home One that evening, their last night together before he shipped off again to Cracken's secret lair.

"Great." He'd kicked off his boots and was stretched out on her bed, his hands clasped behind his head, still grumbling. "Between that and the color variance in Chewie's fur, our disguise is complete. They'd never recognize us." He glared at her petulantly as she came to sit on the edge of the bed.

She studied him in silence for a long moment, humour in her eyes, before lifting a hand from her lap. Wordlessly she traced the scar with her fingertips, then leaned in closer and repeated the gesture with her lips.

"Any other distinguishing features they might have missed?" she murmured, her hands moving to lift his shirt.

He watched her, mesmerized. It was as seductive a segue as anything he'd dreamed up in the wake of their first surveillance duty four years ago. Did she simply know him that well, or was there something else at work?

He wondered, but only briefly, and then she had drawn his attention elsewhere.


	4. Headliners

**Transitions (4/5) by Sabacc Gal**

**Part 4: Headliners**

Freshly back from his second tryst with Cracken, and having decided that ambushing her in the supply closet of some inner-council meeting-room would probably fall under the "improper" category, he figured grabbing a snack and catching up on the smashball scores while he waited for her to come home sounded like the next best course of action.

He palmed the entry pad to her suite and walked straight into the glare of a holocam.

On instinct he lunged full force, slamming the photographer against the bulkhead and then shoving him down onto the floor. He pinned the guy there with the weight of his body, pushed his face into the deckplate. "How the hell did you get in here, you son of a bitch?"

"Take it easy!" the man wheezed, his nose trickling blood. "I'm just doing my job."

"Not in here you're not!"

"Han, let him go!"

He looked up, saw Leia, angry and flushed, in the doorway to the lounge. Appearing behind her was an astonished Mon Mothma and a Twi'lek woman he didn't recognize.

He glanced from Leia back to the photographer with the sinking feeling that he'd just made a bantha's ass of himself.

"I said let him go, Han," Leia repeated more gently, kneeling beside him, her hand on his arm. "He's here to take pictures."

He slowly released his grip on the man's head.

"This is Ruma Sathen from the Galaxy Times," Leia explained, motioning to the Twi'lek. "And Tavain Heanu'un, her photographer. High Command has agreed to an interview."

Shit.

* * *

"And nobody thought to tell me this?"

"You weren't here to tell. I'm sorry, I didn't expect you – "

"Forget it," he cut her off. "Just warn me next time. Tie a hair ribbon to the door or something."

He was embarrassed and pissed off. His shoulder still hurt where he'd rammed it into the photographer. He'd damaged one of the cameras along with the guy's nose, and confirmed himself as a Corellian thug in front of Mothma.

Leia claimed the interview had gone well despite his surprise appearance. But he suspected she was just feeling sorry for him, and he'd rather have her furious at him any day.

He tugged the blood-crusted shirt over his head. After the awkward introductions and a hasty apology he'd retreated to his officially-assigned quarters, a place so rarely used it didn't even hold a change of clothes. "Whose idea was this? Ours, or the Galaxy Times?"

"The Times editor approached Alliance Public Relations."

"Alliance what?" He shook his head incredulously, tossing the shirt into her hamper unit. "We have a PR department now?"

"Public relations is crucial as we transition from an underground military organization to a mainstream political power."

He rolled his eyes. Deep down he knew it was true, but it still sounded like she was reading it straight off an internal memo.

"It's a sound strategy, Han," she insisted soothingly. "Ruma Sathen is one of the most highly respected journalists around. This gives us some control over the Alliance's image, both on a personal and a political level."

"Yeah, I'm sure today's events will make for an interesting story." He rummaged around the shelf he'd appropriated at the very top of her closet, struggling to pull a clean shirt from his stash without toppling anything.

"Actually, Sathen has requested to talk with you, Han."

He looked over his shoulder at her. "Let me guess. Something about her photographer's upcoming lawsuit?"

"No," she said mildly. "Not at all. She was hoping to formally interview you. I think you piqued her curiosity."

He snorted incredulously, then realized she was serious. "That's not going to happen," he assured her. "First off, I'd rather spend a week in the bacta tank." He freed the shirt and turned to face her, adding quietly, "Plus my supervisor would probably frown on an interview." Cracken's covert assignment might prove to be pretty damned convenient in this respect, come to think of it.

She nodded, apparently accepting that. "How did things go, by the way?"

He exhaled, felt the tension of the past few hours easing at last. "Good." He shook his head and grinned. "Really good."

"I'm glad," she smiled. She came up to him, slipped her arms around his waist. "I missed you, though." She stretched up to kiss him, beautiful and sleek and responsive under his touch.

"Huh," he breathed when she released him. He was still clutching the fresh shirt in his hand. "Am I wasting my time getting dressed, then?"

"Possibly."

He tossed the shirt back into her closet.

* * *

They watched the interview as it came in on the early morning news.

Leia had been right: Ruma Sathen was professional. She'd even managed to downplay the incident with the photographer, reducing it to just a brief mention of General Solo playing an active role in the Princess' personal security; hardly subtle to anyone who wanted to read between the lines, but at least it was tactful.

Sathen was probably still hoping for an interview and not wanting to burn her bridges, Han decided.

He stood in front of Leia's open closet, only half-listening to the headlines which were intermittently drowned out by the spraying and splashing of water from the fresher.

…_New Republic are still underway. Delegates from... _

…_situation on Kashyyyk, which is…_

…"_Provisional Council, and a great honor." That was Mon Mothma, of Chandrilla. Notably absent once again was Commander Luke Sk… _

He reached for yesterday's clean shirt, which was still draped haphazardly across a shelf. The sleeve caught as he pulled, tipping a wooden-carved boxed, out of which tumbled a small holosphere.

…_Admiral Ackbar, sparking rumors that General Solo would be leading…_

Han reflexively caught the sphere one-handed as it rolled off the shelf. It energized to life at the warmth of his touch, and he found himself looking at a ridiculously bad-assed image of himself with blaster drawn.

…_In an unprecedented move…_

For a moment all he could wonder, stupidly, was which fucking journalist had managed to snap this one, until it came to him: The image dated back to an impromptu – and slightly inebriated – Rogue Squadron marksmanship contest back on Hoth. He must have posed for this at some hazy moment late into the night.

…_proposed by Sian Tevv and supported in a passionate speech by Leia Organa of Alderaan…_

The background newscast faded to a dull buzz as realization dawned: that he was experiencing the dream, that same absurd carbonite dream, again, as he gazed into the softly-glowing holosphere.

Except he was awake now, and looking in at it from the outside.

* * *

He was sitting on the bed, the holosphere still in his hand, when Leia came out of the fresher. He glanced up at her.

She killed the newsfeed, came over to sit beside him, squeezed his shoulder. "Chewie gave that to me after Bespin," she said softly. "It was very sweet of him."

He looked back down at the globe. "It's from my dream."

"Your dream?"

He held the globe up. "You had this while I was in carbon-freeze?"

She smiled at him wistfully, kissed his cheek. "I missed you so much," she murmured.

"I remember..." He spoke slowly, staring at the globe. "I was inside here. It was dark. I couldn't see or move or breathe. You were outside, looking in at me, searching. I could feel you looking for me." He glanced up at her again. "Telling me you'd find me."

Her eyes were wide with shock.

"I couldn't hear the words, but I could feel them."

She stared at him in silence.

"I'd been telling myself it was just a dream. Post-traumatic-stress crap," he said after a lengthy silence.

She stood up, shaking her head. "That's all it is. A dream you had, after your release, which your subconscious has incorporated into fabricated recollections of – "

"Come on, Leia," he said softly. "I wouldn't dream this out of the blue." He glanced down at the holosphere. "I've never even seen it before now."

"It's been in here all along. Maybe you came across it –"

"No," he interrupted. "Trust me, I'd remember this."

"It's just a strange coincidence, then." She was striding over to the desk.

"Sometimes you cried," he said quietly. "Wishing we'd… had more time together."

She opened a drawer, rummaged briskly inside.

He swallowed. "You were the only thing that kept me sane all those months."

She retrieved her satchel, shuffling flimsies, avoiding his eyes. "I'm late for a meeting."

* * *

After her departure he plunked himself onto the couch, mindlessly scanning to the Dreadnaught games he'd missed.

As the feeds flickered by, he caught a familiar flash of himself. He paused, recognizing one of the Sladimar images that Jess had tipped them to, the one highlighting Leia's hand on his arm.

He hit the volume.

…_Organa, romantically linked to the rebel general who played a key role in the destruction of the second Death Star. _

_General Solo has remained a mystery figure throughout his involvement in the rebellion. Today, we bring you a special report which will shed some light on the Corellian pilot who is both hailed as a hero and wanted for treason._

Han stared in dismay as the segment, in a barrage of images, quotes, interviews, and news snippets, proceeded to piece together a two-minute personal history more ridiculous than anything he could ever have imagined for himself.

But a few bits stuck out among the rest, not as highlights in an ocean of idiocy but as hitting too close to the mark:

_Orphan._

_Beggar._

_Raised by Wookiees._

_Con artist._

_Swoop racer._

_Traitor._

_Backstabber._

When the segment ended he muted the volume and stared blankly at the screen.

While most of the sources had been anonymous, a handful had not, and a few he'd even recognized: the shriveled shell of Pavo, a kid he'd once worked the streets with under Shrike's tutelage; Meska, one of his bunkmates his first month at Carida; Dink, who'd been rumored to dip into the cargo he was smuggling. He'd been friends with them as much as he had been with anybody else back then.

He wondered whether or not they'd been paid to make their comments; realized he'd feel better if they had.

* * *

He watched smashball all morning, was still shirtless and barefoot when the door chimed.

He didn't bother pulling on a robe. Screw propriety. They obviously weren't fooling anybody and besides, he was officially off-duty.

"Morning," Luke said with unnecessary cheer.

"Your sister's not home," Han grumbled.

"Yes, I know."

Han frowned, scrubbed at the back of his neck. "Right." He stepped back to let him in. "You want a drink?"

"Sure," Luke nodded amiably, settling into the couch with remarkable nonchalance for someone who'd been away for so long. "Whatever you're having."

"I wasn't having anything, actually."

"Except a bad day?"

Han smirked in spite of himself. And some people claimed Luke had lost his sense of humour since this Jedi business. He ducked into the suite's tiny galley. "So where've you been, kid?"

"Not far. I've been doing some research. History, training, meditation."

"And, let me guess, you've come back to offer me wisdom on how to handle the media without resorting to violence?"

"My abilities are strong, but not that strong," Luke smiled serenely as Han returned to the lounge with two ales.

He handed Luke a bottle and sat on the couch across from him, propping a foot onto the low table.

"Wedge tells me Chewie's visiting Kashyyyk?"

"Yeah." According to Leia's most recent communication with Chewie a few days ago, the situation was getting worse. "Leia's been trying to convince Council that something needs to be done. But they're so busy scheduling her photo ops, they're barely listening."

"I wanted to talk to you about Leia," Luke began solemnly. "She's… been avoiding me."

"You've been gone for weeks. What's to avoid?"

"And yet she's managed to get her point across."

Han laughed drily. "You know her, when she sets her mind to something..." He cracked his drink open, then added in a more subdued tone, "She's got a whole lot on her plate right now."

"So it seems." Luke raised his eyebrows.

Whatever it was that Luke was insinuating, Han couldn't bring himself to care enough to defend himself. "You got something to say, say it, brother."

Luke shook his head. "She'd kill me for interfering, and I'm already facing her wrath on one front."

Han chuckled sympathetically and took a pull of his ale.

Luke was staring at the sweating bottle in his hand. "I don't know how much she's said to you about my offer to train her."

"Not much." An understatement, to say the least.

"I need her to understand how important it is that she do this, Han."

"Yeah, well, good luck with that, buddy."

Luke shook his head solemnly. "Han, the media isn't about to let up on her. It's only a matter of time before they figure out who her father is." Han felt a chill on Leia's behalf. "She has abilities that she needs to learn how to use, to control. For her own safety. Her life could depend on it one day."

Han dropped the banter, wondering vaguely if Luke's visit was really just an eerie coincidence. "Her life is the Alliance, Luke. We've both known that since the day we met her. She's not about to drop it all to run off and become a Jedi." He sighed. "Besides, you honestly think I could convince her to do anything she doesn't already want to do?"

Luke gazed at his ale. "This is so important…" He sounded alone and worried, almost frightened.

After a lengthy silence Han asked, tentatively, "So, tell me, what are the risks of having these abilities without proper training?"

The door slid open on his question as Leia walked in.

"Luke," she greeted him matter-of-factly, appearing not at all startled by his presence. Her brother rose to hug her. She returned the hug with a glare in Han's direction.

"Your brother and I are just having a drink. Can I get you one?" Han offered as gallantly as he could manage it under her withering gaze.

"It's barely noon," she pointed out curtly. "How are you, Luke?" she added in a gentler tone.

Luke glanced uncomfortably between the two of them. "Um, good. Just leaving, actually," he said mildly. He reached for Leia's hand, held it a moment, then turned to go. "Thanks for the drink, Han."

The door had barely slid shut before Leia was turning on him with a frown. "You called Luke about this?"

The accusation irked him. "So what if I did? It's just a bunch of subconsciously-manufactured bantha crap, right?"

"That's not the point, and you know it."

"Listen, I didn't need your permission to talk with Luke before, and I'm sure as hell not going to start needing it now, brother or not." Okay, so that was just stupid, he realized as the words left his mouth.

"Well, isn't that just great!" She stared at him frostily.

He forced calm into his voice. "Why is it that, before, you were pushing me to talk to someone about this, but now that it involves you –"

"I was suggesting you talk to Too-Onebee. A medically-qualified neutral third party. Not my brother!" She turned away angrily and a moment later he found himself alone in the suite once again.

* * *

The lights had dimmed to night mode when he woke to the sound of the door. He lay motionless on the couch, heard light steps approaching, felt a hand gently brushing the hair off his forehead and warm lips grazing his temple.

"Who won?" she murmured in his ear.

"The Dreadnaughts," he mumbled, eyes closed. "You owe me big time, Lando, and don't think for a second you can flirt your way out of it."

She chuckled, still stroking his hair. "I love you, you know that?"

"So the tabloids keep saying." He kept his eyes closed, enjoying the feel of her hand in his hair.

"They have their facts right, for once." Her breath was warm against his cheek. "When I stopped by at noon it had been to apologize, believe it or not."

He opened his eyes. In the darkened room her rueful expression was heightened by the flicker of recapped scores and the glowing highlights of the day's games.

He sat up with a creaky groan. "I didn't tell Luke anything," he admitted with a sigh. "I never even called him. He just dropped by out of the blue."

"That's what I concluded," she nodded, "after I calmed down." She slipped herself over the couch's armrest to nestle in beside him.

"Look," he said quietly, "you don't want to tell him about this stuff? Fine. You don't want to talk to me about it?" He shrugged. "Just say so. But don't pretend it's not happening, at least not with me, because I'm not that stupid. You think I don't see it? It's not just the holosphere thing," he shrugged.

She looked up at him, apology etched in her face. "I know that. And I'm sorry."

He sighed, reached to put his arm around her shoulders, pulled her closer.

"He wants me to start training," she murmured. "This will just add fuel to the fire, and I really don't want to think about any of it right now. I can't forgive Vader what he did. And I have absolutely no interest in being a Jedi."

"I'm not saying you should do any of that. All I know is that when I was stuck in that frozen hell, it was you who kept me from going crazy. And to have you insist that it didn't happen, well…"

She raised her head to look at him. "I missed you so much, Han. All I dreamed about was finding you, getting you back and…" She trailed off, her eyes glistening. "But even so, I can't explain this. And I'm afraid of looking too closely at what it might mean."

"Okay," he conceded.

"No." She shook her head wearily. "It's not okay. But I've seen how things have changed for Luke recently. The chasm that's growing between him and nearly everyone else since word has gotten out that he's a Jedi." She paused. "People either fear him, despise him or place him on a pedestal. As a diplomat, I can't afford that kind of distance. And as a person, I don't want it. I went through it after Alderaan, and I'm not keen to be on the receiving end of it again." She was speaking so softly he had to strain to hear her. "Especially not from you."

"From me?" He felt his chest constrict as her words stung him unexpectedly. "Did I do that?" he asked quietly.

"No. You didn't, not ever. That's my point." She looked up at him. "I meant what I said, Han. You were the only one who dared treat me like a regular person. You and your infuriating, half-witted nerf-herding behavior." She smiled. "You were never afraid of me."

The tightness in his chest eased a little. "Why would that change?"

"How would you feel if I could read your mind?" she murmured.

"You mean more than you do already?" She looked stricken, and he shook his head reassuringly. "What's there to read – I'm just a half-witted nerf-herder, remember?"

She squeezed his hand with a wistful smile. "You're also a very private person."

There was truth to her words. "Old habit," he mumbled. "I'm working on it."

"I know you are." She took his hand protectively in both of her own. "But it's one thing to choose to volunteer things, though, and quite another to have them taken from you without your consent, isn't it."

"Better you than the media," he shrugged. "Did you know Masa Trelik's stuff aired today?"

"I saw it." She looked at him with concern. "It's NovaNews, Han. Nobody takes anything seriously from a newsfeed whose main draw is holo-gossip and smashball tournaments."

"It was mostly bantha crap." He hesitated. "But not all of it. I actually did know some of those people, back when we were just dumb kids dreaming of a better life." He shook his head. "I can't even blame them for talking. I might be doing the same thing if I hadn't been lucky enough to escape when I did."

She sighed. "I'm sorry, Han. For all of this."

"I think I'll live." He pulled her close, kissed the top of her head.

They sat in silence until she asked quietly, "What _were_ that young scoundrel's dreams back then?"

He shrugged. "Having enough food. Flying my own ship." He glanced at her. "Seducing a princess so I could live the easy life."

She chuckled softly and kissed his shoulder.


	5. Heroes

**Transitions (5/5) by Sabacc Gal**

**Part 5: Heroes**

"Were you planning on watching smashball all week?" she asked him when she came home on the second afternoon of his third leave.

"Only while you're at work. Other than that…" he turned off the game and sat up, "…I'm all yours."

A wave of guilt washed over her features. "I'm off to Talus tonight."

Shit. "Didn't you arrange –"

"I know," she nodded apologetically, clearly miserable. "But we're desperate to drum up interest from the Corellian sector. Also…" She glanced up at him.

He knew what was coming. And, despite his resentment at the unexpected turn of events, they both knew he'd be far more resentful if she didn't ask.

"…I could use a pilot."

He sighed. "Sure, whatever." With Chewie still on Kashyyyk with the Falcon, this likely meant flying some creaky military shuttle outfitted with multi-stacked navy bunks and a locker full of ration bars; hardly a romantic getaway. But it was better than lounging about the empty suite watching smashball and trying to stave off ineffectual dreams.

"Thank you." She leaned over the couch to kiss him; caressed his cheek. "Have I mentioned that I love you?"

"Yeah," he grumbled. "Usually when things are about to get unpleasant."

She gazed at him in amusement; shifted closer and kissed him again, her hands straying into territory which suggested she fully intended to prove him wrong in this particular instance.

* * *

"I'm going to have a quick shower," she murmured, moving out of his arms. "We need to leave by twenty-two-hundred if we're to make planet fall by morning."

"Ten standard hours," he scoffed, mentally pulling up a Corellian star chart and estimating the jumps as he lifted the couch's cushions in search of his shorts. "The Falcon could have gotten us there in…" He looked up sharply as a thought occurred to him. "Hang on. Talus, huh?"

Leia, already halfway to the fresher, looked back at him questioningly.

He headed to the console. "If you can spare some time between the speeches and the fancy appetizers, Princess, you'll find out why the average Corellian may be passing up your political shindig."

She frowned, but came over to the console.

He'd already keyed the info and pulled up the details.

"The Nashal River Race championship?" she read off the screen. "What is that, some sort of regatta?"

"Regatta?" He chuckled, shaking his head. "No, not boats. Swoops." He grinned. "The Nashal River Race championship is the biggest swoop racing event in the Corellian system."

"Swoop racing?" She pursed her lips.

"Swoop racing!" he nodded enthusiastically. "Plus the best traladon ribs in the galaxy!"

"Swoop racing and ribs…"

"There's nothing else like it," he promised as he eagerly explored the events schedule.

"I'm sure." But he detected amused tolerance in her tone.

He glanced back at her again. "Have I mentioned that I love you?"

* * *

"She's a beauty."

"Thanks," the kid acknowledged without looking up as he worked to calibrate the Mobquet's vanes.

The swoop circuit – sights, smells, sounds, energy – was everything Han remembered, much to Leia's baffled disbelief, though he had to admit she was putting up with it with patience and good humor.

He leaned over the pit's barricade to get a closer look at the engine, noticed the ragged scars on the boy's grease-smudged arms. "You modified her yourself?"

"Yep," the kid shrugged nonchalantly, still focused on the calibration meter. The vane, chopped way beyond specs, was refusing to settle into a stable reading.

"Try offsetting your meter by a negative point oh five inversion, get your reading, then flip the offset to calibrate," Han suggested.

The kid looked up at last, clearly annoyed.

"Or, just keep doing what you're doing," Han shrugged.

The kid threw him an arrogant glare but punched in the offset. A minute later he was looking back up at Han with a casual nod. "Nice trick."

"Yep."

The boy frowned, his eyes narrowing. "You're General Solo?"

Han didn't react. "Depends who's asking and why."

The kid blinked and shook his head. "They say you qualified in the under-eighteen division when you were just thirteen."

"They say a lot of things."

"But this one's true?"

Han shrugged. "Maybe, especially if I'd had a custom-job like this one."

The kid considered, then cocked his head towards the swoop. "You want to give her a try?"

Han looked at the swoop, then back over his shoulder at Leia, who'd been watching the exchange from a few meters away. She waved him off, rolling her eyes.

He checked the vanes as the kid steadied the swoop. Then he mounted and took her out to wait for clearance on the warm-up course.

That swoop really was a sleek machine. A little rough on start-up, but smooth as silk at the speeds that mattered. He took her around three times, pushing her hard, was sorely tempted to do a fourth run but decided not to stretch the kid's generosity or Leia's patience.

There was a small crowd gathered behind the barricade when he returned to the pit. He did his best to ignore it.

"That's a nice bit of work, there," he told the kid as he dismounted.

He could have spent the afternoon chatting up the swoop's intricacies with the boy, but had to be content with a few minutes, aware that there were holocam-wielding sportscasters everywhere and that Leia was nowhere to be seen.

He thanked the kid, dispatched the reporters with what he hoped were a few PR-appropriate answers, evaded three giggling humanoid females who seemed eager to coax him into the nearest cabana, and went off to find Leia.

"Enjoying yourself, flyboy?" She was sipping Corellian ale at a nearby snack station, somehow managing to look entirely at home nestled between Madame Zinga's fortune-telling booth and a rigged Blast-a-Blob gallery. A barely-touched plate of ribs sat on the tiny metal table before her.

He pulled up a second chair. "I don't know how you put up with this growing up," he grumbled, helping himself to one of the ribs.

"Am I to believe that Han Solo is complaining about three gorgeous young things throwing themselves at him?"

He looked up at her, sucked rib sauce off his hand. Wondered what his chances were of coaxing her into the nearest cabana. "I think just the one is already more than I can handle."

She reached out, wiped sauce from his chin with a paper napkin. "Not that I believe you for a minute. But thank you, I think," she smiled.

* * *

It was all over the newsfeeds by evening.

Everything: The pit. The swoop ride. The girls. Leia's napkin.

Good thing they'd held out for the hotel room rather than the nearest cabana.

* * *

"_Remember that sorry fate I was saving your ass from?"_

"_Sir?"_

"_They're pulling you off the project." Cracken's voice was flat._

_Fucking shit. "They give a reason?"_

"_Officially? Of course not. Off the record? You're the newest pawn in their PR game, and they're not happy seeing you buried here with me. But watch yourself, Solo. The company you're keeping makes you a double-edged sword in their minds."_

"_What about the prototype?"_

"_Up for review. I'm on record as opposing their decision, to put it kindly, and they've basically wiped their asses with me on this one. Regardless, I'm sorry to be losing you, you insubordinate son of a bitch."_

"_Likewise, General."_

He stared unseeing at the dimmed console, recalling the slick manoeuverability of that little prototype last week, the reassuring warmth of Leia in his arms last night.

A promotion to fleet command would raise his public profile tenfold while whisking him away from the last of Alderaan's royalty, satisfying their PR agenda on two fronts.

He sat for a minute, then activated the console again.

* * *

She'd waited up for him, as he'd known she would.

"Something tells me you've had a busy day," she commented simply as he came through the door.

"I've been pulled from the project." He dropped down onto the couch.

"Yes, I heard. But the rest was, ahem, nebulous." She came to sit beside him. "Care to spill?"

"What's to spill?" he said innocently. "They'll find someone else to command their fleet if I agree to lead the liberation of Kashyyyk. I've got a week to put together a strike team. I just got off the central comm with Chewie."

"I know that much," she said patiently. "What I don't know is how you pulled it off."

"Who, me?" He gave her a wounded look.

"Are you telling me that Ruma Sathen just happened to publish an in-depth feature today about the urgent situation on Kashyyyk?"

He shrugged. "She's a Twi'lek. She's got a personal interest in the slavery issue. I'm surprised it took her this long."

"And she happened to suggest you as the prime candidate to lead a potential strike?"

"General Solo, hero of Endor, is the obvious choice," he said dismissively. "He's famous for his Wookiee co-pilot, he understands Shyriiwook, he's familiar with Kashyyyk, knows the culture…"

"…he's someone Sathen's been dying to interview…" Leia interjected.

"What are you suggesting?"

"Are you honestly telling me you didn't bribe her with an upcoming exclusive?"

"Hey, you know I hate interviews. Besides," he admonished, "do you really think a respected journalist like Sathen would stoop to something like that?"

She considered his words; he could see her gears spinning furiously. He felt a quiet satisfaction at the knowledge that he could still surprise her, Force-sensitivity be damned.

"Did you even read the full story?" he chided. "Sathen was apparently inspired by a think-tank report – from Calamar University, I believe – that heralds the idea – and I quote – '_that the liberation of Kashyyyk is the most pressing social-justice issue on the road to winning this war, and reluctance on the part of the would-be government to address this immediately is ethically questionable and politically misguided.'_" He leaned back, clasped his hands behind his head. "Or something like that, anyway. I might be remembering it wrong." He gazed at her with a self-satisfied smile.

She narrowed her eyes. "You didn't, Han. You set up Ruma Sathen with a fabricated report?"

He shook his head with a chuckle. "Nobody fabricated anything," he assured her. "You know how many unread reports these think-tanks crank out every day across the galaxy?" He grinned. "The trick is finding the one that exactly meets your needs and putting it on the right person's doorstep at the right moment without raising suspicion."

Leia's eyes widened. "Jessa's slicers…" she whispered.

He raised a modest eyebrow. "I have to admit I didn't expect Sathen to act on it so fast. Or that the news pundits would run with it the way they did, or that the editorial response would be so overwhelming. I thought it might take a few days, at least."

She stared at him, seemingly stunned.

"Things were obviously primed," he shrugged. "They just needed a little push."

Her mouth was pursed in reluctant admiration. "My own opinion on the issue was entirely inconsequential. Even Ackbar had to agree with Alliance PR that sending the legendary General Solo to Kashyyyk was worthy of considering."

He grinned. "If I'm going to be jerked around, I'd rather it be on my own terms."

She studied him for a long moment. "You'll be gone for months just the same," she remarked in a quiet voice.

"Yeah, I know," he sighed. "And so does High Command and all our new friends in PR. That's probably another reason they were so easily swayed into sending me. But at least I'll be more than a public-relations icon on this one." He met her eyes. "There's other people who can lead their fleet at least as well as I could. But I'm better qualified than anybody to pull off this strike. Plus it's something I care about, and it needs to be done right. And soon."

"_Fight for Freedom?_" she quoted softly.

He saw again the sketch on the bookbag, Wookiee and human standing shoulder to shoulder with weapons drawn. "All these years he's looked out for me. I owe him this much, at least."

She nodded, frowned slightly. "They'll still be pushing a fleet command on you when you get back, you know."

"You think?"

"They want you, Han."

"They just don't want _you_ to want me." He gazed at her soberly. "They're gambling on us: three-to-one you'll come to your senses and move on to somebody more acceptable while I'm away."

She shifted to her knees on the couch, straddled his lap so she was facing him. She brushed the hair off his forehead and fixed him with that defiant look he knew so well.

"Let them place their bets, then," she murmured. "We'll clean them out."

* * *

"You think a traditional Alderaanian wedding would shut everybody up?" Deliciously drunk with release, the day's build-up of adrenaline spent at last, he heard himself mumbling the suggestion into her hair.

She chuckled against his chest. "Alderaanian weddings are convoluted affairs. You'd be on your third rotation before the potential florists had been pared down to a manageable shortlist."

"How about a Corellian wedding, then."

"Those are quick?"

"Rushed, actually. While the dress still fits," he deadpanned.

She laughed, a relaxed, contented sound, and suddenly he knew for certain they would make it through this. "_That_ would get the tabloids talking."

"_You're_ the one so curious to see what I was like as a young scoundrel," he reminded her.

She raised her head to look at him and he saw that he'd surprised her once again. She stared at him for a long moment, then kissed him, slow and deep, and he found himself wondering, with an unexpected longing he couldn't quite place, how much of this she was dismissing as his usual banter.

"How about this for now," she murmured when she'd released him. "There's a suite available on Level 4."

He raised his eyebrows, intrigued but waiting her out.

"A large suite," she continued after a moment. "With enough closets that you might not feel the need to make a mess of mine, and an office with its own entrance so you'd be less likely to crash my meetings." She raised an eyebrow back at him.

He cocked his head in amusement. "You asking me to move in with you?"

"You've already moved in with me," she challenged mildly. "This would simply make things more..."

"Optimized?" he suggested. "Streamlined? Practical and cost-efficient?"

"Comfortable," she finished patiently, ignoring his jabs. "And official, as well. You'd have to formally relinquish your quarters for this to be approved; it's a premium suite. But there would be room for Chewie too, if he wanted."

He was taken aback by how carefully she'd thought this through.

"So basically – " It came out unexpectedly hoarse. He cleared his throat, tried again. "So basically, you're telling me my heroic attempts at propriety have failed miserably, so we might as well just throw in the towel?"

"Something like that," she smiled. "The suite is vacant. We could be in before you leave."

The reminder of the lonely months ahead was sobering. Not quite how he'd imagined officially moving in together. "You'll be on your own to face the gossip," he reflected. "I can moon them all the way to Kashyyyk, but you're the one who has to deal with them every day. Are you up for that?"

"Absolutely." He saw the determination in her eyes. "They need to be reminded that their carefully-crafted agendas have personal ramifications." She sighed. "I'm sorry about the project, Han."

"Yeah, me too. Cracken's the one they really screwed over, though. But I doubt he's going to let it go without a fight."

"The last thing we need is more infighting," she shook her head. "They're not evil, Han. They're just politicians. They're doing what they believe needs to be done. And right now they believe the Alliance needs heroes, not stealth ships."

"I didn't sign up to be anybody's hero," he grumbled. "Except maybe yours." He glanced at her sheepishly.

Her eyes seemed extra bright in the glow from the bedside chrono. She touched his cheek, brushed her fingers over his chin, tracing the scar there.

"Seems you played the part just a little too well," she murmured, before kissing him again.

* * *

_Author's notes:_

_I'd like to acknowledge the holosphere scene in Marvel Star Wars #61, which was a very early inspiration for this story. Feedback welcome, encouraged, and appreciated, as always. Thanks for reading._

_-Sabacc Gal_


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